


Welcome to the Space Jam

by Witchlight



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Isolation, M/M, Spaceships, bullshit about spaceships, gay romance in space, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchlight/pseuds/Witchlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With how many sessions ended up smashed together to create one successful session, there were bound to be problems. Dualscar, however, did not expect to be waken from endless sweeps of dreambubbles to live on a ship in an endless universe with only a scrawny alien 'human' as company. Neither did Dirk, but hey, he isn't complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting to Know You

The human is back again. Not bothering anything, just soundlessly tapping away at the holographic device he'd somehow wrangled from the synthesizer. He's tucked himself into a corner of the command deck with his gaze studiously kept down - whenever Dualscar looks at him, anyways. It's as though the boy thinks he'll chuck him out the airlock if their gazes met. Which, to be fair, almost happened more than a few times in the beginning.

Still, being the only two intelligent beings in the universe put new importance to keeping or killing the kid, and the great Orphaner, culler of millions... Didn't want to be lonely. Besides, the tiny little alien was pretty smart. He repaired and upgraded the ship all by himself, stayed quiet and unassuming whenever he was around, and kept his numerous robots far away from the troll after he'd expressed a dislike for them. All in all, the boy really wasn't bad company.

For an alien.

Clearing his throat, the violetblood does what he'd never done before - initiated a conversation. "Lad. Come here." He crooks an imperious finger that has the youth raising a silently critical brow, and the troll lets his hand drop. He hadn't meant to be demeaning, it was just that... Old habits died hard. And his were particularly ingrained into his personality.

Dirk doesn't question or push it further, setting aside his pad and neatly rising to his feet to approach the much bigger male. "Need me to recalibrate or something?" He asks in that odd drawl, not quite an Alternian country accent. Regardless, it's quite a pleasant change from the sharpness of Alternian nobility, or the somewhat slurred and raucous speech of most sailors.

But that's not the point. Dualscar shakes his head and takes a step back, gesturing to the spot he'd just occupied. "You should learn to steer." He explains gruffly, trying to ignore the weird curl of emotion when the delicate-seeming blonde steps trustingly where he'd been directed. "In case I'm injured or ill." He tacks on afterwards when Dirk doesn't offer up anything in reply.

It earns a hard glance over the boy's shoulder, a light frown tugging at frustratingly inexpressive lips. "Doubt that'll happen." That's what he says, but there's something in his voice that makes it sound more like... 'I hope that won't happen.' It sends another curl of that unfamiliar emotion through the big troll that he promptly exiles to the darkest corners of his mind to return to never.

"Aye, lad, likely not. But tis better to have a plan lest the worst come to pass." He points out quietly. He can spot a minute crease in the human's brow, but then Dirk is turning from him with a nod. He's a logical creature. Dualscar can appreciate that, especially in one so young. Though, if he was being honest in the space of his own head... He could appreciate a lot of things about the boy.

Which sounded disgustingly sappy now that he'd admitted it to himself, and once again he banishes those thoughts.

Instead, he focuses on the boy himself, taking a step forward to reach around his scrawny little frame - and really, didn't the exasperating little thing eat enough? They had plenty of food, surely - No. Not his worries. His hands take pale fingers and direct them to the controls, quietly explaining. "The ship is mostly automated, but there are manual controls as well. This here controls the rear thrusters - our speed, to be plain. And these are the port and starboard thrusters, with which we correct our headings -"

Dirk shifts, a quiet murmur of noise leaving him as he turns, human breath warm when it reaches the highblood's lips. "Headings?" He questions, settling back from his former position hunched over the controls. The bigger male finds himself stunned silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the youth's fragile body pressed lightly to his front. Such thin bones, humans had, for all the lean muscle packed onto that scrawny frame.

Perhaps the silly thing just didn't have an ounce of preservation instincts.

"... Our direction. They control our direction. Normally we can just punch through a planet's gravitational pull or use it like a slingshot, but if the planet is too large or we're in a spot of dead space - with no stars, no planets, nothing large enough to draw us in - then we can use them. Or we can point them sternwards and add their strength to the rear thrusters if there's an emergency situation." Dualscar watches, narrow eyed and suspicious as the boy seems to relax as he speaks, leaning in to the vibrations of his thorax like it was a soothing experience.

Then again, he couldn't say he hadn't expected it. Ever since they'd woken up on the floor of the space ship, the little human had proved himself a conundrum. He never intentionally sought out physical touch, but the merest pat on the boy's shoulder or head seemed to make the youth practically beam - or at least as much as his stoic face seemed capable of. It was... Not cute. Interesting, maybe. Yes, interesting. That's what it was. And flattering. That's all.

Orange eyes, just faintly visible through the dark shield of his shades, are still locked on the big troll, and for a long moment, Dualscar isn't at all certain what he should do. It almost feels like the young blonde is... Waiting for something, but that doesn't seem right. What was he expecting, especially in this sort of position?

A brief grin twitches over the teen's lips, and the highblood feels sour because he knows that means he's missing something. Surely the damned alien wasn't laughing at him. But before he can press the issue, Dirk shows mercy towards him and speaks up. "So the thrusters here control our direction. What about these levers here?" He prompts, gesturing towards a random pair of sliders with barely a glance towards them.

Gaze flicking between the control panel and that far too intelligent gaze, shielded as it was, the big male grimaces faintly. He hated being left in the dark on things. "That controls the fuel output. The more we use, the hotter the fire burns, and the quicker we move. If we burn it all out, though, that means we'll be drifting in space and have to figure out a way to refuel without docking first. And most likely be dealing with rogue asteroids and comets while we're at it."

"Doesn't sound too pleasant." The human's blase comment gains a stern look from his companion, but the little smile tugging at pink lips is enough to tame the lecture that was already building in the seadweller's mind. Instead, he merely frowns at the youth until that blonde head ducks in an amused parody of contrition.

With a snort and a swat of his hand between the boy's shoulder blades, he ushers the young human away. "Off with ye, lad." He orders, fingers adjusting their course before letting the automated controls take over. "Be of use and grab us some grub. I'll be in the recreational block."

Ducking away, the youth glances over his shoulder. "Thanks for the lesson." He replies, and his voice is soft and honest before he's darting around the corner with enough speed to kick up a small breeze in his wake. Dualscar doesn't focus on that, though, because he's run across a startling problem. The ragged fins of his ears are flushing bright, spreading wide in a display that the troll was going to chalk up to far too many sweeps alone, because what other reason could there be for a reaction like that to such simple words?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which horns are polished and princes once again prove themselves incapable of handling their emotions.

"Your horns look a little rough. Is that natural?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and Dualscar is not ashamed to say he was surprised as he turns his gaze on the little figure at his side. One hand lifts unconsciously to touch the juts of his horns, feeling the little spurs and gritty texture with a faint grimace of distaste. "Aye, lad. Perfectly so." He assures the youth, but now that it's been pointed out to him, he can't help but feel a bit embarrassed. "We have to smooth them out every sweep or so. I didn't realize they were quite so horrid."

Dirk is staring at him with a peculiar pinch to his lips that the troll is slowly beginning to interpret as the boy wanting to ask a question but not wanting to get in trouble. One elegant brow arches as the seadweller sits and waits, content to keep patient and let the boy speak at his own pace. Prodding would result in the little blonde clamming up, ignoring it would leave the human to his silent moping for the next several hours. So he waits.

As he expected, the youth tips his head down and to the side, unconsciously submissive as his eyes fix somewhere near the bigger male's feet. "Can I help?" He asks, all timid-soft even through the perfect monotone of his voice. It makes the seadweller's old, black blood-pusher wince a little.

Still, he takes his time answering, eyeing the youth up and speaking to him in a voice just as quiet. "Horns are a troll's pride." He starts, and those slender shoulders droop with expected rejection. "Promise ye won't muss 'em too much, and I'll let ye at 'em." He finishes, and oh, Dirk is perking up. The poor kid. He was so used to keeping a straight face, but his body language gave him away every time. What kind of life did he live, to have such an odd contradiction of mannerisms?

That now familiar, tiny little tug of a grin, missed if you blinked, is there and gone again before Dirk is taking a few quick steps towards the door. Unbidden, Dualscar tries to imagine what a real smile on those alien pink lip would look like. He can't picture it, but... He wants to see it, all the same.

Distracting himself from his musings, he reaches forward to snag the back of the youth's shirt between two claws. For all the lean strength in the little human's body, he's still tiny compared to the seadweller, and it takes barely a tug to send him back down and onto the couch. He worries, vaguely, about the boy's health for the second time in as many days. "Stay there, lad. I'll be back in a tick."

The walk to the alchemiter is eerily long and quiet without the surprisingly comforting and by now familiar sounds of another living creature near him - a heartbeat, the rhythmic in and out of breathing, the gentle slide of fabric as Dirk shifted, the soft noise of him clearing his throat or yawning. After so long in the dream bubbles, completely isolated and left only to ponder his lifetime of terror, it was... More than a little discomforting to suddenly find himself alone again.

Returning quickly to the room with a curved file, a bottle of oil, and a soft cloth, Dualscar can practically feel the tension seeping out of his muscles once he can see and hear the teen - though he holds up a cautioning hand when the young blonde attempts to stand from his seat. "No, lad, as ye were." And then, without a pause, the huge troll drops the items in Dirk's lap before easing himself down onto the floor, back pressed ever so casually against the human's knees.

The sharp hiss of a breath makes his fins flick briefly, but, as always, Dirk composes himself quickly. "I guess this helps with the height." He speaks up, voice quiet but even. It's his hands that betray his anxiety, picking at the items in his lap with uncertainty.

With the seadweller's own smile hidden by their positions, he just leans back a little further and eases the line of his shoulders. "Start with the file." He explains, reaching a hand up to run along the sharp juts of his horns. "Any spurs or bumps, file the tips sharper if you'd like. Just be careful with them. They'll grow back, but it won't be quick. Then take the cloth and oil them down. Gives the horns a shine, smooths everything down."

A long beat of silence follows his words, and then the first gentle touch to his horn - but it's warm, soft fingertips instead of the light rasp of the file. Dualscar stills, but doesn't object as those fingers trace the shape, thumb over the tip to test its sharpness, even delving down to hesitantly rub where horn met skin. The troll's eyelids flutter, feeling heavier by the minute, and there's a low, constant note building in his throat, a pleasant croon that draws a somewhat breathless chuckle from the human.

By the time he blinks back into reality, Dirk's hands are buried in loose black curls, rubbing near the base of his fins, and the troll's head is practically laying in the youth's lap. He can see a smile twitching at the boy's lips as he looks up, a certain disbelieving happiness kindling in sunset eyes just barely visible past the rim of those ridiculous shades, and -

And the file is jamming uncomfortably against his neck and even as blunted as they were, the wrong move might have the violetblood's horns creating a rather painful issue with the human's soft, delicate skin.

Those soothing fingers freeze, surprise briefly flickering in those half-hidden eyes before Dirk's stoic mask slides smoothly back into place. "Sorry, curiosity got the best of me." He eventually offers up, not breaking their locked gazes as the troll watches him right back. His shoulders are tense, though, and his fingers still haven't relaxed - or moved from his head.

Dualscar wants to say that he doesn't mind. That the boy was free to continue with his ministrations and take his time. Instead, he slowly nods before straightening his back and trying to hide the flush of violet that brightens his fins. "No harm done, lad." Is what eventually eases from his lips, voice a quiet rumble.

Whether or not he got his meaning across, he didn't know - but at least it got Dirk's fingers moving, drawing out of his curls to rustle at his lap. Then the familiar rasp of the file against his horns has the troll letting his eyes slide closed, trusting the human's need for perfection that he wouldn't mar them horribly. With the blonde's attention focused on the task at hand, Dualscar knows better than to interrupt him - knows it would do little else but earn a few grunts or monosyllabic words in response - and just waits out the process until the oiled cloth is smoothing over the keratin and a scratchy, stop and start purr is hitching in his chest.

"I didn't know you purred." Dirk speaks up, finally snapping out of his trance and blinking once, twice at the odd noise. "That - that is a purr, right?"

Twisting his neck to get the kinks out of it, the seadweller nods with a hum of assent as the odd noise fades. "Yes, I suppose that's the closest word for it. All trolls do, though the pitch changes between different between hemocastes. Which is... Unnecessary information. My apologies."

A quiet noise of protest leaves the smaller male before he composes himself, shaking his head briefly - not shifting away from the coolness of the troll's body still pressed to his legs, though. "Unnecessary, maybe, but interesting. I'm glad you told me." There's a beat of silence, and then a soft, warm hand lands on his shoulder. "Why's it different from caste to caste?"

Fins perk and twitch, Dualscar happy to launch into a lecture. "While the species itself has very specific genes that transfer between individuals - the gray skin, black hair, horn coloration - the variations between the hemocastes almost point towards diverging species. Seadwellers, with our obvious aquatically based differences, are a good example, as well as how lowbloods have a much higher chance of developing mutations. However, the variations don't stop at the easily observable level."

Regretfully sitting up and turning to face the youth, the troll doesn't think twice before he's reaching for one small, pale hand and placing it on his chest, a low rumble of nearly sub audible noise more felt than heard. "For example, seadwellers' thoraxes is able to produce a deeper note in order to be heard through the water, and our bones are far denser than our land-based brethren. From a scientific point of view, it's a wonder our species can reproduce, even with the rather... unique help in the form of mother grubs."

Again, interest flares in the young blonde's features, and Dirk is speaking up quickly. "Even with the mother grubs? Do you think your ancestors - forebearers, sorry - might have reproduced sexually?"

"I think it's a possibility, though I have no solid evidence other than conjecture. Most species don't use surrogates, except for in the case of a few insectoid creatures - but even then, it's more for incubation purposes than actual fertilization. Our species is very old, and not even myself or even the Condesce are quite old enough to see the beginning of it. And, unfortunately, our race has never been particularly interested in history, only the future."

Dirk's hand is still on his chest where the bigger male held it, rising and falling with each breath the troll took and released. It's warm, amazingly so, and though the violetblood had never before seen any reason in taking a lowblood as a quadrantmate... Well. Perhaps he might have an inkling of an idea now. It felt good, having something so warm against his skin.

Not that he was thinking about quadrants right now, of course.

There's no way to see past those damn shades, but Dualscar gets the feeling that orange eyes are glued to where their hands touch, elegant fingers clasped in the larger, powerful hand of the troll. He doesn't so much as twitch a muscle, but neither does he say anything - an awkward silence falling over them as neither can find anything else to say.

Hesitantly, the seadweller loosens his grip, letting his hand fall back down to his lap. It seems to shock Dirk into movement, and he snatches his hand back quick enough to be somewhat of an insult. Dualscar can feel his lips twitching down into a faint scowl, and there's an answering flush of color in those pale cheeks before the boy darts to his feet and takes a few steps away - fleeing, the troll can recognize that much at least.

"I'll see you later. Thank you, for letting me polish your horns. And the biology lesson." He lingers, like he wants to stay, and Dualscar is thoroughly confused by now. The blonde continues, sounding a little too rushed for his usual casual drawl. "We should do this again sometime. The polishing or the talking."

One raven brow raises, slow and expectant. "Well..." Dualscar drags out, slow and pointed. "That can be arranged, I think, considering our cramped quarters and limited company." He means it to be a joke, he really does, and the lofty condescension in his tone is just reflex by now. An empty pause is when the youth would normally snap something snarky, and they'd fall back into comfortable conversation.

But he doesn't.

There's something like a frown on Dirk's features, tone somewhat strained. "Right." He murmurs - mumbles, really, and Dualscar has to be missing something. "Well - see you."

And then he's gone, leaving an utterly bewildered violetblood in his wake, wondering what he'd said wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism welcomed!


End file.
